


Incubus

by bittenfeld



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Bloody Kisses, Confrontation, Demon Sex, Graphic Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Violence, Sexual Violence, Threats, demonic, demonic visitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1207372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A midnight visitor offers Ichabod a choice – a brutal choice with a very high price…</p><p>New – Chapter 6:  The next morning, Ichabod is at the dinette table doing the newspaper crossword.  Abbie is in the kitchen fixing breakfast.  She opens the kitchen curtains to the window that overlooks the land behind her house.<br/>And gives several startled shrieks.<br/>Jerking up from the table in alarm, Ichabod rushes over.  Abruptly Abbie turns away from the window, falls into his embrace, burying her face again his chest and panting for breath.  He looks out to see what shocked her… and starts laughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A midnight visitor offers Ichabod a choice – a brutal choice with a very high price…

_“I told you I would come for you.”_

He knew he should wake up.  The deep voice resonated within him, called to him, wanted him.  He tried to answer, tried to respond to the familiar essence… But what was it?  Something he knew… someone close to him, a companion? a lover?… a blood mate… Blood…

 

Abruptly a sharp gasp escaped Ichabod’s lips and his eyes snapped open in the darkness.

He knew the voice, he had heard it before – coming from Andy Brooks’ lips, though it hadn’t been Andy Brooks’ voice.  The memory still haunted him, a shadow that lingered long after in his mind.  Yet this dream had seemed almost too real, and he would have to calm his nerves before he’d be able to fall asleep again.

Until another sound in the room interrupted his doze.  A raspy breath, and a faint chuckle, right next to his bed – and that was no dream.

Heart clamped in his chest as his hand shot out from under the blankets for the lamp on the bedside table. 

But in the darkness, something was faster.  In the darkness, cold fingers clutched his wrist.  A scream nearly broke from his lips as he started to jerk up to a sitting position to fight the intruder, before another hand grabbed him around the throat and slammed his head back down on the pillow.  Desperately the fingers of his free hand scrabbled at the grip on his neck, but helplessly – he couldn’t dislodge it or even loosen the stranglehold.

Now the bedside lamp flared on, without anyone touching the switch, illuminating his accoster:  a large red-coated figure bent over him – with a masked face which Ichabod had prayed never to see again.  In horror Ichabod stared at the milky opaque eyes through the mask’s eyeholes.  A cold shudder raced over his skin, and his stomach sank.  They’d lost.  If the Horseman had his head back, then everything was too late.  The other Horsemen would be raised, and apocalyptic war would begin.

“I told you I would come for you,” the Horseman repeated, and irrelevantly the thought came to Ichabod that the voice was not muffled by the mask.  “I hope you have waited for me, my friend – because now I am going to take you.”

… _take me where_?... Ichabod wanted to speak, but couldn’t with the grip at his throat.

Finally the demon released him and straightened up beside the bed.

Touching his own hand to his throat, Ichabod coughed to regain his breath.  Then once again glowering at the intruder, he started belligerently to push himself once again.

And flopped limply back on the mattress.  He could move, but his strength had been drained.  He was helpless before the man – before this _thing_ – that wanted him dead.  He had to fight, had to gather what strength he could.  But his body sluggishly refused to respond.  “What have you done to me?” he accused in a raspy wheeze.

“Very little – so far,” the deep voice replied.  “You should be more concerned with what I plan to do to you.”

Ignoring the threat, Ichabod repeated his demand, “ _What have you done_?!  You have bewitched me.”

“Only a little,” – and Ichabod could hear the dry amusement in the tone – “I merely calmed your nerves, so that you would not continue your useless attempts to attack, and interrupt our discussion. You needn’t worry – the effects will lessen shortly.”

It occurred to Ichabod that he should have been terrified out of his wits right now.  Yet all he felt was cold anger.  “We have nothing to discuss.  Except how are you here in my chambers?  This house is alarmed and locked – you should not have been able to enter without alerting us.”

The demon merely sneered.  “Do you truly think your alarms and locks can keep me out?  I can travel wherever I wish.  And you – I can appear to you anywhere and anytime.  We are bound.”

“I see that you have retrieved your head, as well.”

“Not… quite…  This is all an image projected to you.”  And to demonstrate, the solidity of the demon’s form wavered and the head faded, leaving the raw open neck wound visible to Ichabod’s sight.

“So, this is not real then,” Ichabod tauntingly concluded.  “It is merely another nightmare.  You are not real.”

The image of the Horseman’s body and head solidified once again before him.  “Is my touch not real enough for you?” the demon challenged.  A careless finger stroked along Ichabod’s jawline, making Ichabod jerk his head away in disgust.  “I’m as real as you wish me to be – no, I am as real as _I_ wish to be.”

Ichabod glowered.  “Very well, devil, if you wish to have a discussion, then tell me, why do you continue to pursue me?”

“For the same reason you cannot leave me alone.  We both received orders to kill the other.”

“Who gave you your orders?  The Crown… or Moloch?”

“Moloch – of course.  He knew that you would later become a threat to him.  But you made it easy.  Colonel Tarleton reported your treasonous defection to the authorities, and a warrant by the Crown was issued for your execution.  It was given to me to carry out.”

“Then how do you explain now to your devil lord why you haven’t carried out your orders?  You could kill me right now.  Why do you linger?”

“You know the answer to that.  As long as we are bound by blood, neither can kill the other.”

“There is another way – surely you have realized that as well.”

“To kill ourselves?  I am incapable of such an action.”

Ichabod’s eyes flashed bright and cold.  “ _I_ – am not.”

“Then why haven’t you?”  Hefting the broad-axe in his grip, Death offered, “I will give you the chance, Captain Crane, to fulfill both our orders.”   And so saying, he laid the axe on the blanket over Ichabod’s chest, with the sharp spear-tip of the haft poking the flesh under Ichabod’s jaw, breaking the skin and drawing blood.

With a hiss of burning pain, Ichabod jerked his head back an inch on the pillow.  The weapon might be as much an illusion as its master, projected to Ichabod’s mind, but the weight pressed heavily into him and the point drew very real blood.

“Take the chance I offer you,” the Horseman urged.  “Take it… my dear Ichabod.”

But Ichabod just lay there, aware of the keen point pressing into his flesh.

“Do it, captain.  Or are you as incapable as I, after all?” Death taunted.

Straining away from the spear tip, Ichabod acknowledged, “I will not… yet.  There is a greater objective here – your demon lord.  General Washington knew that.  I will take him down, and then you and all your kind will fall together.”

“Your Commander Washington only ordered you to kill me.  A soldier can not modify his orders at his whim.”

“My commander is dead now.  I will carry out his full wishes.  If I kill Moloch, and you die as well, then I will have fulfilled my orders.”

“You will never be able to destroy my lord,” the Horseman assured, momentarily withdrawing the axe’s threat.

“We shall see, won’t we?” Ichabod countered.  “At any rate, there is some other energy I sense from you.  We are bound by blood, we are bound by our orders to kill one another.  What else do you want from me?”

A soft snort escaped the Horseman.  “Don’t you know, my friend?  Can’t you guess?”

Ichabod wished he could read the milky opaque eyes.

“You felt it as well, when you held me prisoner,” the Horseman goaded.

“I felt nothing but hatred and disgust – the same as I do now.”

“If you believe that, then you are lying to yourself.”

“You are the one lying.”

“I never lie.  Lies are only told out of fear, and I do not fear anything – least of all humans. I hold the power of death over mankind, and I freely admit to it. What is there to lie about?”

“Then you’re putting words – thoughts – into my mind.”

“Nor do I need to do that.  Search your feelings about me.  You will realize there is a great deal that draws us together.  An energy we share.”

“That cannot be.”

“Nevertheless, it is there.  We slew each other on the battlefield, we rose together.  We are truly bound.”

But still Ichabod demanded, “Do not continue to speak in riddles, but tell me what you want of me.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the demon smirked, and now Ichabod noticed what he hadn't before: a huge straining at the crotch of the Horseman’s breeches.  And a cold chill raced over Ichabod’s skin.

Then, as the Horseman stood there, his clothes and weapons dissipated, save for the mask, leaving him naked before Ichabod.  A big muscular man, bald, hefty and powerful.  And with his head once more attached, he stood a few inches taller than Ichabod’s 6’1 frame.  But what drew Ichabod’s attention were the heavy-hung genitals – despite himself, he couldn’t draw his eyes away from the swollen erect cock, huge and lifted up.  And the black semen which bubbled from the tip.

Cold horror coiled in Ichabod’s belly; needled through his nerves.  So this is what it all led to – bodily desecration, violation most intimate.  His personal being would be defiled, and he had no way to prevent it.  No way at all.  Desperately he tried once more to resist, to force his muscles to react, but the straining effort only caused his palsied limbs to tremble weakly, and he remained flat on the mattress. 

Nevertheless he would not give his adversary cause to gloat over his shame, would not mewl and whimper before this grotesque abomination.  Deliberately he acted unimpressed, even though the demon would obviously recognize it as no more than an act.  “If you expect me to be aroused at the sight of you, Horseman, you shall be sorely disappointed.  I have no interest becoming more… intimately… acquainted with you.”

“Your interest or lack is of no concern to me,” Death merely retorted.  “I wish to take you, and I shall.  Although,” he suggested lasciviously, “you may find your opinion changing by the time I’m done with you.  Perhaps you may even find yourself enjoying it – despite your quite energetic protestations at the present.”  And jerking the blankets off, he exposed Ichabod’s nakedness, gaze centered upon Ichabod’s own privates, shrunken and cold now with anxiousness.  “Well, I see that you were indeed waiting for me.”  Seductively he laid a hand on his prisoner’s bare hip, causing an abrupt twitch to race over Ichabod’s body.  Fingers explored, up a lean flank, across a flat belly, plucked lightly at a few coarse curled hairs, yet strayed no further… for now.

“No.” Ichabod refused.  And grabbing the intruding hand by the wrist, he pulled it off him, as his abuser casually relented.  Again Ichabod tried to rise; again his body relaxed bonelessly.  He wanted to struggle, wanted to fight, yet he couldn’t even garner enough strength to raise himself from the mattress.  “Perhaps I cannot stop you,” he allowed coolly.  “But at least I refuse to lose all my privacy to a man wearing a mask.  Show your face, demon,” he insisted.  “I shall not be shamed by one who hides behind a mask.”

That earned a slight chuckle.  “Very well.  But you may be surprised by what you see.”

“I have looked upon the faces of demons before.  I shall look upon your countenance, though it be worse than all the devils of Hell.”

“If you wish.  Indeed, I surmise there will be quite a few revelations between us tonight.”  And compliantly Death caused the mask to dissipate. 

And Ichabod was indeed startled.  For rather than looking demonic, the Horseman’s visage was no more than human, save for eyes whited out by milky opacity.

“You do not look like the other demons,” he noted in curiosity.

“I am not like the others.”

“Your visage is that of a man.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Are you – or have you ever been – a man?”

“No.  Although I have been worshipped by man since the beginning of time.  I am the totality of my brother Horsemen.  I am the very embodiment – the very source – of human death and destruction, which men have striven for, throughout the centuries.  You might even say that humanity, in its lust to destroy its own kind, has created me.  So, what would you have me look like?”

“Like the foul corrupt festering thing that you are.  At any rate, I cannot comprehend why such a mighty demon as yourself would feel the need to give in to such pettiness as a mere human need,” Ichabod taunted.  “Surely at your level you have risen above such minor itches of the flesh…”

“On the contrary, a great deal of human suffering and violence revolves around just that very itch…  So it is very much a part of me as well.”  Again fingers caressed the groin fold of the supine man, trespassing a hair’s-breadth from private flesh, yet deliberately holding back from the prize laid before him.  “However, I have never felt so strong a desire to act upon it as I do now, close to you.”

“How romantic,” Ichabod merely sneered, deliberately steeling himself against the intimate probing.  “Should I feel flattered?”

A subtle cold pull of lips.  “I craved you from the first, when I first saw you on the battlefield…”

“ – when I put a bullet in your chest – ?”

“… and if circumstances would have allowed it, I would have taken you right then… forced you to me – right before I killed you.”

“If that is your idea of sweet murmurings to woo a lover, it is woefully lacking.”

“I promise, you will come to… appreciate my attentions,” the demon assured.

“Never, you foul creature.  You have waged a war of terror upon my kind.  You have killed my friends.”

“And I shall continue.  More of your kind shall fall beneath my axe.”  Lips skinned back in a cold aggressive smile.  “Indeed the next to feel my blade will be your lieutenant’s dear sister.”

“ _What_?!”  At that, black rage filled Ichabod’s eyes, and again he lurched up.  “NO!  By God, you will not touch her!”

“I do not answer to your god,” Death merely sneered.  “So kill us both, Captain Crane!  Save her… and thereby spare Moloch your interference as well.”

“I shall destroy your monstrous existence, even though my life is forfeit as well.”

“Perhaps you shall.   And… leave your friends to deal with my lord.  Do you think they can?”

At that, Ichabod hesitated, his threats cut off abruptly.  He knew as well as the thing that stood before him, how helpless the others would be.  They were good fighters, strong and true… welcome compatriots.  But they didn’t – couldn’t – fully apprehend what they truly faced.  They didn’t feel the black blood within them, they couldn’t know it as Ichabod knew it.  They were too – yes – innocent, to realize the true enormity that threatened.  And in their naïveté, they would be easily, viciously, slaughtered.

Then presumptuously taking Ichabod’s chin by the short beard hairs, Death forced his gaze up.  “Lord Moloch will welcome your destruction.  Your friends pose very little threat to him.  He shall feast upon their souls… and perhaps even their flesh as well.”

Fury seethed through Ichabod’s flesh, powerful shuddering claimed his muscles, his head trapped in the Horseman’s callous grip.  “ _Monster_ …!” he breathed tightly through gritted teeth.

“Then monster I am,” the Horseman agreed.  And becoming impatient, he once again laid the axe on Ichabod, this time on his bare chest.  “So, make your choice.  Take my seed, or take your life.  Kill us both, if you wish – and thereby preserve my lord Moloch.  … Why do you hesitate… my dear Ichabod?  After all, this is no more than a dream – you said so yourself, did you not?”

* * * * *

_to be continued…_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod has no way of fighting the Horseman off, as he is forced to submit to the demon’s rape… for the first time this night…

“Do not harm Miss Jennifer Mills. Give me your word to spare her, and I will not fight you. You may do what you will with me. Though I will never surrender my soul to you, I will surrender my body to you for one night – tonight.”

At that a deep chuckle rumbled from the Horseman’s chest. “You would offer such?”

“Yes. A bargain, demon. That is what you want, is it not? Surely taking me means more to you than taking her life.”

A cold smile pulled lips. “You misunderstand, Captain Crane. I do not bargain. I told you she will be the next to fall under my blade, and that will happen. As for you, my dear Ichabod, yes, _taking_ you is what I crave – I have no interest in you merely surrendering to me. You hate me.”

“As much as you hate me. With every fiber of my being.”

“Forcing your strength down until you are completely humiliated will make it so much sweeter. But you needn’t worry, I shall be… gentle… with you,” the Horseman assured, reaching a caressing hand to Ichabod’s cheek, then abruptly punctuating his pronouncement by a sharp backhand across Ichabod’s face, snapping Ichabod’s head back on the pillow.

Steadying himself from the blow, Ichabod glowered at his attacker, and spat, “That is your concept of gentle?”

“I will take you every way that I wish tonight, but you will be left functional – surely you would consider that gentle?” Another fondling caress of Ichabod’s face, then fingers slipped down to his throat, as the deep voice mused, “Of all the humans I have killed, and all the ones I shall kill, you are the one I want most of all to destroy… and the only one I cannot.”

“Yes,” Ichabod agreed coldly. “ – isn’t it… ironic?”

Then drawing a knee onto the bed, Death lay down atop Ichabod. Beneath the Horseman’s heft, more than fifty pounds greater than Ichabod’s, the heavy iron axe-head, pressed between them, weighted down Ichabod’s chest, and nearly suffocated him as he could barely draw a breath. And the long wooden haft forced between his legs squeezed his genitals so painfully that tears welled in his eyes.

And then as the Horseman began to move, dry-humping at first, his bodily thrusts threatened to stab Ichabod with the point of the axe-haft. Ichabod couldn’t fight back – indeed, he could hardly move for fear of impalement or being sliced by the razor edge of the demon blade, sharpened thinner than any normal human weapon, and pressed to his breast. And it brought back dark memories of being sliced open by this very weapon.

Until when Ichabod could bear the weapon’s crush no longer, the Horseman pushed the axe out of the way and dropped it to the floor with a heavy clang.

Then the demon reached up, his arm lying alongside Ichabod’s head, while coarse fingers combed through his hair, before clutching a fistful and forcing his head back. Propped up on one elbow beside Ichabod’s supine body, their legs intertwined, the Horseman pinched nipples painfully, then slid fingers along Ichabod’s sternum, and Ichabod was all too aware the demon could, with one thrust, drive the bone into his heart. Instead, the cold fingers slipped over his left breast to stroke the old thickened scar.

With a sneer, Ichabod taunted, “At least the memento you gave me of our... chance meeting... is not nearly as noticeable as the one I gave you.”

“If that mark holds such import for you,” Death allowed, sensually rubbing the cold hand over Ichabod’s chest, “then I shall be happily obliged to leave you with other marks of my pleasure. Marks that others will see and know that you belong to me.”

At that, Ichabod balked angrily, but couldn’t unseat the Horseman.

And clutching Ichabod’s jaw, the demon forced a vicious kiss on his mouth that shifted into a cruel bite to his lower lip breaking a cry from Ichabod’s throat. Momentarily Ichabod forced him back, then smeared a hand across his mouth which came back bloody.

“Yesss…” the deep voice promised, fingertips sliding down a vulnerable throat, “by the time I am finished, your flesh will bear full testimony to my… love…”

And grabbing a fistful of long brown hair at the back of Ichabod’s head once again, he forced another brutal kiss. In irritation, Ichabod tried to twist his face away, but the Horseman jerked his head tight and forced a tongue into his mouth. Helplessly Ichabod grunted as he was orally violated. Angrily he clenched his jaws to bite the intruding tongue, but suddenly his teeth met… nothing. Startled, he saw the image of the Horseman’s head waver and fade, and Ichabod found himself staring disconcertedly at the raw open neck flesh of the headless monstrosity.

Then again, sharply, a solid hand smacked across his face, knocking his head to the side in a brutally stinging slap, drawing tears to his right eye, and a dribble of blood from one nostril.

Angrily Ichabod steadied himself, forced himself to look directly at the grotesque gory decapitated thing just inches from his face. “Well, at least that is an improvement,” he needled. “Because no matter what visions you might invoke, you cannot ever change the reality that _I took your head_.”

For a moment various images of the Horseman appeared wavering and superimposing on one another: his masked and unmasked visage, as well as his headless form. Until finally his appearance settled as his unmasked face once again.

“You can’t hurt me,” Death reminded with a little smile. “But it pleases me that you try.” Opaque white gaze eyed Ichabod over presumptuously, and Ichabod felt his skin crawl.

Then grabbing Ichabod by the hair again with one hand, the Horseman slid his other hand down to Ichabod’s genitals.

Ichabod twitched in distress as the cold hand groped him, and grabbed the wrist to stop him. For a moment, the demon hesitated, looking Ichabod over, then abruptly pushed his hand further into Ichabod’s crotch, pressing his cock and balls back uncomfortably and getting in deep enough to touch his anus.

In sudden shock, Ichabod jumped, eyes widening, and jerked away sharply. And catching his abuser slightly off-balance, he wrestled them both to the floor. But Death just took advantage of their position. With Ichabod on hands and knees on the floor, the demon embraced him from behind, pushed one hand back down in front to squeeze tender genitals; the other down over Ichabod’s buttocks, then rubbed a finger into his cleavage.

“No! Cease!” Ichabod demanded, writhing and fighting,

A taut grin tugged the corner of the Horseman’s lips, as he wrestled him down and pinned him. “You don’t really want me to stop,” he retorted, while teasing the sensitive anal muscle ring, then forcibly shoved a finger into Ichabod’s rectum. Again Ichabod jerked, trying to free himself from the impalement, but couldn’t dislodge the other hand in his crotch, gripping him firmly between the legs. Nor could he prevent the little noise that moaned from his throat.

The uncomfortable sensation of fullness distressed him, but even worse, aroused him. In shame, he just wanted it to end. Until finally the finger pulled out, and helplessly Ichabod moaned at the relief.

Roughly Death lifted Ichabod from the floor, and pushed him back onto the bed, gripping his calves and dragging his legs until his hips were right on the edge of the mattress, then pushed his knees to his chest. Then using his thumbs to open him, the Horseman rammed in. With a yell, Ichabod bucked. But the Horseman just used Ichabod’s motion to shove in another inch.

Back and forth the demon rammed and rocked and pitched, changing his rhythm, gripping Ichabod’s thighs to change the angle and depth of penetration. Ichabod was in pain, panting, biting his lips, face screwed up, fingers digging into the edge of the mattress as he was pounded. Tears leaked from tightened eyelids.

Finally the Horseman’s pumping increased, hard and deep and fast, bouncing the bed, until finally orgasm took over and he shot his fluid inside Ichabod’s bowels. In pain, Ichabod cried out, but also in shock as his body surrendered to the sexual stimulus. He fought it down as best he could, but couldn’t prevent it completely, as a small burst of semen squirted on himself and the Horseman.

Then Death collapsed on top of him, smearing Ichabod’s cum between their bodies. Panting hard, half-chuckling, he gasped, “That was delightful. I shall remember this for a long time – I hope you do, as well.”

Ichabod glowered up at his abuser, to mock, “So, this was your first time. I suppose I should be doubly flattered that you lost your virginity to me. Though I must suggest that your technique might use a little finesse if you expect to satisfy a lover.”

“Then I shall have to continue practicing - upon you,” Death assured. And rising from Ichabod’s battered form, he promised, “I shall return another evening… and we shall renew our passions again and again.”

“Damn you…!”

“I am already damned – it is you who are damned now, Ichabod Crane.” A caress to Ichabod’s bruised cheek. “And now Jennifer Mills awaits my blade.”

“NO! Leave her!”

“No. She is to be the sacrifice tonight.”

 * * * * *

_to be continued…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote my bit about the bloody kiss, before I saw the Johnny Depp movie, and the bloody kiss of that Horseman (yesss!! not as sexy my Horseman, of course, but verrry nice…!!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New – Chapter 3: this chapter is a work in progress – it’s not fleshed out, but since I don’t know when I’ll get back to fully writing it out, I just wanted to share what I have.
> 
> As Ichabod lay in exhaustion from the savage intimacy, the Horseman mocked, “Do you still consider that I am unable to satisfy a lover? I told you from the start, that you and I share a drive, a need – a passion for each other. You did not believe me then – but you cannot deny it now.”  
> “I… deny it,” Ichabod could do no more than gasp, head lolling weakly on the pillow.  
> But Death merely smiled. “You lie, my friend – and you do it poorly.”

Death grinned coldly. “I told you I don’t bargain.”

“You have taken your sacrifice tonight,” Ichabod snapped. “You have taken everything you wanted from me, foul bastard. Grant me this one favor in return. Spare Miss Mills’ life!”

“I granted you the pronouncement of my plans. I didn’t have to tell you at all.”

“Do you wish me to beg, demon? I will beg.”

“Do so, then. Let us see if you even can. Since I am sated on your sweetness, perhaps I am in a more pliable mood now.”

“Then I beg you,” Ichabod pronounces.

But the Horseman just shakes his head. “Not that way. Get down upon your hands and knees.”

“Bastard.”

“Or is one moment’s loss of your pride worth more to you than your friend’s life?”

Grudgingly Ichabod drops to hands and knees, fighting against every atom of his being, and pleads in humiliation, until finally the Horseman allows, “Very well, I shall spare her – for tonight, and tonight only. You however, will not be spared – you arouse me more than ever, and I shall take you again.” And pulling Ichabod up by his pajama-shirt-front, the Horseman throws him across the bed, and rapes him again.

Afterwards, Ichabod says, “I have sought your weakness, Horseman, and now I have found it. You want me, you crave me. You say you do not bargain, but I will make you bargain for the fulfillment of my flesh. Each time you come to me, you will spare your next victim. You will tell me their name, and you will spare them. In return I will allow to you to fight me for my submission. Otherwise you will _never_ do to me again what you’ve done tonight.”

“Tell me, Captain, if I spare those you care about, will you then be willing as well to forgo your vengeance against my lord Moloch?”

“No. Never that. Nothing will make me give up my ultimate mission. I will continue to pursue him – and you – to the death.”

“I have no need to bargain with you. I am stronger than you, I can take you any time I want.”

“You can – but you’ve said yourself, that isn’t what you want. For that matter, you could take anybody – you don’t need me. You want me because we are linked, you want to feel the rush of energy from our bond. And you want my coöperation – even if it’s just to fight you, to make you work for the prize.”

“That is all you have to bargain with?”

“But it’s what you want. Your existence must be so pitiful, so futile, that the only rush you feel is from beheading helpless victims, and by taking me. It’s like a drug to you. And taking me is the greater, is it not? You would not speak so often and so fondly of our bond, and you would not be here now, if that were not the case. You would have simply gone to Miss Mills tonight, then returned to your watery grave.”

Death takes an amusement in Ichabod’s challenge. “Very well, I shall bargain for the first time in my existence, and agree to your terms… with one consideration. Each time I come to you, I will spare a life – but for that night only. After that night, I may choose to take them any time I wish. If that is agreeable to you… then we have a deal.”

“We have a deal… monster.”

“Then we shall seal it with our seed,” the Horseman pronounces and takes him again in the most intense rape yet. Pushing Ichabod off the bed and hauling him to his feet, the Horseman penetrates him roughly from behind, while embracing him – one hand taking his throat and jaw, the other slipped down to grasp his genitals. Cruelly the demon bites the flesh of his shoulder, then licking his ear, murmurs obscenely, all the while working deep inside him, “Do you know what I am going to do to you?” The deep voice vibrates within Ichabod’s own being, increasing the arousal that is being forced upon him the deeper the Horseman rams into him. “I will take you to the very edge of what you can endure, and I will hold you there, not letting you have your release, until you beg me for it…”

“No…” Ichabod gasped, despite the betrayal of his body already responding to the indescribable pressure filling his bowels and stimulating his genitals.

“Oh yes…” the Horseman chuckled. “And when you cannot bear it a moment longer – and you _will_ beg, I assure you of that… then I will hurt you… hurt you deeply…”

“…no… god no…”

“and you will come harder than you’ve ever known, while screaming in excruciating… _pleasure_ …”

“No,” Ichabod denied breathlessly. “I won’t.”

“Then perhaps I should take my… ministrations to someone who might appreciate them more – perhaps to Miss Abigail Mills…”

“NO! Leave her!!” Abruptly Ichabod struggled sharply, but there is only a sudden gasp behind him and a lurch deeper inside him, as his struggles only served to stimulate the Horseman’s arousal even keener, and the thing inside him swelled even larger.

Again the Horseman chuckled, continuing his vicious ramming. “You are too easy to bait, human. I have no interest in Miss Mills. You are the only one I will have.”

…and despite himself, Ichabod came this time too, harder than he’d ever come before in his life – against his will, but the most cataclysmic orgasm he couldn’t have imagined.   It was too powerful to be normal, which it wasn’t, of course.

Afterwards, the Horseman mocked, “Do you still consider that I am unable to satisfy a lover? I told you from the start, that you and I share a drive, a need – a passion for each other. You did not believe me then – but you cannot deny it now.”

“I… deny it,” Ichabod could do no more than gasp, head lolling weakly on the pillow.

But Death merely smiled. “You lie, my friend – and you do it poorly.” Carelessly he wiped a finger through the white creamy proof spattered on Ichabod’s belly. “Even your own body refutes your insistence,” he reminded.

“Leave me,” Ichabod whispered.

As the Horseman rose from the bed, his uniform reappeared over his body. Momentarily he stood over Ichabod’s helpless form, only to assure snidely, “You will beg me to return. You will think of this night again and again, and you will desperately await fulfillment at my hands once more.”

After the Horseman leaves, Ichabod comes out of the vision state, awakening in bed. For a long time he can only lie there weakly, utterly drained.

When he can finally gather some strength, he gets up and, favoring strained muscles, snaps on the room-light and looks in the dresser mirror, almost disbelieving. He has no idea how much time has actually passed with the Horseman – at any rate, not nearly as long as it seemed. What has seemed like hours was perhaps only a few minutes of real time. He also suddenly realizes that while his skin is sticky with his own ejaculate, there is no sign of any black semen smeared on him. None at all. However, his bruises are very starkly real.

He knocks on Abbie’s bedroom door, calls to her to wake up. She has him come in, but then as she starts to reach for the lamp, he says not to turn on the light. She agrees, but she wonders why. He tells her that the Horseman came to him in a vision, and threatened Jenny. Abbie starts to panic. Ichabod takes her shoulders firmly, tells her to call her sister and have her get out of town, that the Horseman will come after her, but probably not tonight. Nevertheless, no doubt very soon, so she needs to get out of Sleepy Hollow and stay out. Abbie is worried about Ichabod too, as she grabs her phone off the nightstand, and asks if something is wrong. He assures her, “I’m all right.” But in the light of the phone, she can see some of the dark marks on his face. But before she can ask any more, Jenny answers. Caught between the two of them, Abbie relays the message to Jenny, while Ichabod retreats to his room.

After she hangs up, Abbie knocks on Ichabod’s door, asks if she can come in. He says no, and she questions again, is he all right? Again he assures her that he is, and adds, “I’ll see you in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

Which of course she can’t do now, and lies awake the rest of the night wondering what is going on.

  
* * * * *

The next morning she sees the bruises, and she’s stunned. He has washed up and dressed (and taken a long hot shower – a _very_ long, _very_ hot shower), but the dark marks are still blatantly visible on his face and throat, and even his wrists, as the Horseman had pinned him forcibly to the mattress.

He just says he fell out of bed, then changes the subject asking if Jenny got out of town. Abbie says yes, but she want more answers about Ichabod’s vision of the Horseman and the bruises. He gives her only the barest answer, leaving out all information about the rape and his deal with Death. Again he turns the conversation back to Jenny, insisting that she needs to stay away, and not do anything foolish like trying to confront the Horseman, thinking that her martial skills can stand up to him.

  
* * * * *

 

Later that morning, Irving meets Ichabod somewhere alone. “Abbie’s worried about you – says something seems wrong, but you won’t talk to her. She asked me to check in with you. Figured maybe it’s something you don’t feel comfortable discussing with her because she’s a woman, and we could have a little man-to-man.”

For awhile Ichabod says nothing, so finally Irving is about to leave. “Well, anyway, I’ll tell her I tried.”

As he turns away, Ichabod announces, “The Horseman came to me in a vision last night. He said that his next victim would be Miss Jennifer Mills.”

“Yes, Abbie said you told her that much. We’ve put Jennifer Mills in a safe-house more than a day’s horseback-ride away, so unless he changes his mode of transportation, she’s okay.”

“Which he may do.”

“He may.”

Again Ichabod falls silent. Irving probes. “So, um, is that all the Horseman said to you? Did anything more happen in your vision?”

An intensity sharpens Ichabod’s eyes, but he says no more.

“Don’t you think you should share with the rest of the team?” Irving urges. “You’re also pretty bruised up and limping. Looks like you tried to stand up to a Mack truck. Abbie said that you told her you just fell out of bed. But I agree with her, those are pretty impressive bruises for just rolling out of bed.” Still nothing from Ichabod, until Irving reluctantly inquires, “What can’t you tell us? You, uh, didn’t… make a deal with him, or, um, something like that, did you?”

At that, Ichabod shoots a piercing stare the captain’s way, then admits, “Ironically, I tried to bargain for Miss Mills’ life. But he wouldn’t accept it – at first.”

“I didn’t realize he could communicate.”

“Oh, he can communicate quite… effectively… when he chooses to.”

“What did you offer?”

“Myself.”

“I don’t understand. What’s that supposed to mean? Offered yourself? How?”

“Just as it sounds. I offered myself to save her life.”

“You made a deal with the Devil? How the hell is that supposed to help us take down Moloch? And why would he refuse? I thought he wanted to kill you.”

“He didn’t want me to _offer_.”

“So you fought in the vision, but somehow you ended up with bruises in reality. That’s unusual.”

“Reality is not quite as usual as it used to be.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Irving agrees. “But you know, all this you could have told to Lieutenant Mills. So there’s still something else you’re not saying. And besides, I thought you two couldn’t kill each other anyway. So what exactly did you offer – your soul?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then, your life for hers?”

“Not exactly.”

Ichabod goes silent again.

“From your reluctance, if it was anything but a demon – and a headless one at that – I would guess that it had something to do with sex. Although we’re talking about a headless monstrosity here, so I can’t imagine that would be the case.”

Still silence from Ichabod, which leaves a nasty image in Irving’s mind.

“O–kay.” Irving pieces it together. “You had sex with him, in order to save Jennifer Mills. You were willing to do that?”

A sharp chilly side-long look from Crane. “It was by necessity, Captain, not by choice.”

Pain shoots across Ichabod’s expression, and sympathy floods Irving. “Crane, I’m sorry.”

But Ichabod just shrugs it aside. “It happened. And… in the vision, he did at least have his head back.”

“Well… not that that makes it any better, I suppose.”

“It does not. Nevertheless, what else befell, I will not tell Leftenant Mills, and I will not tell you. It has been humiliating enough to allow you to know this much.”

“Crane, you were victimized. What he did is a crime. He assaulted you. And by the way, you wouldn’t have to feel embarrassed to tell Lieutenant Mills. Male and female police officers alike are trained to deal with rape cases.”

A cool wry smile tugs the corner of Ichabod’s lips. “It happened in a vision. Tell me, Captain, how do you prosecute a crime that didn’t really occur?”

“Well, like you said, reality is a little bendy these days.”

“Indeed. Well. While I appreciate yours and the leftenant’s assistance, this – all of this – is really just a matter between the Horseman and me. Our bond – our… disagreement – goes back two-and-a-half-centuries. It doesn’t truly concern or involve you.”

“Oh, it concerns me. For you, two-and-a-half centuries – for me, two-and-a-half months. The time doesn’t matter. He’s beheaded seven people in my jurisdiction, and shot a friend of mine to death. Demon or not, I’ve got a serial killer on my watch. Believe me, I’m involved. I want him as much as you do.”  
  


* * * * *

_to be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (this chapter is a work in progress, just bits, still in very raw form)
> 
> “Are you so eager for my affections now?” the demonic horseman taunts.  
> “Monster!” Ichabod snaps angrily.  
> The Horseman grins. “If you hunger for my caresses so much, then I shall requite your desires much more often. I shall leave bruises upon bruises, I shall bloody your wounds again and again. Have you thought about me every night as you have lain in bed? Have you relived every moment of our… tryst? Because I have…”

For several weeks there are no more beheadings, no more sign of the Horseman. They’re relieved, but at the same time, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Finally one day, the Horseman accosts Ichabod alone. Ichabod comments, “Not so talkative without your head, I see.” And he suggests, “Perhaps our little… tryst… never actually happened. Perhaps it was indeed merely a dream.”

But Death just reaches up a hand to Ichabod’s face and casually touches the ball of his thumb to the faint scar of the bite-mark left on Ichabod’s lower lip. And the Horseman’s chest gives a couple of little hitches, which Ichabod realizes is the headless demon chuckling.

Then turning away, the Horseman lets a slip of paper flutter from his hand, then walks away. Ichabod picks it up.

There’s a name written on it – no doubt, the Horseman’s next intended victim. Ichabod knows at least they have a day to get the person out of town. And he also knows the Horseman will come for compensation tonight.

And when he comes, he is headless. After all, there is nothing to discuss at this time. At least, that also makes it quicker – he just takes what he needs, then leaves.  
* * * * *

Another time, someone is killed, without the Horseman giving warning, but neither does he come to Ichabod that night. Later when they face again, Ichabod angrily demands why, but the Horseman reminds him it’s only when he takes him that he’ll be given warning. “… which will be often enough,” the demon promises. “Are you so eager for my affections now? Now I’m the one to feel flattered. I would have thought you to be desirous of my consideration to allow you to recuperate from our earlier trysts. However, if you hunger for my caresses so much, then I shall requite your desires much more often. I shall leave bruises upon bruises, I shall bloody your wounds again and again. Have you thought about me every night as you have lain in bed? Have you relived every moment of our… tryst? Because I have.”

“Leave… me be, demon! We have a bargain… but no more than that.”

“No, it is much more than that.”

“You wonder what it is I wish. It is very simple. I wish for you to acknowledge our bond between us, to embrace it willingly.”

“Then you shall never have the satisfaction of hearing that from me, demon. Those words shall never cross my lips.”

“So, you can regain your head whenever it suits you?”

“No. But I can momentarily recall the memory of it when necessary. The way you left me after our first encounter, I would be unable to take your mouth… or bloody your lips with my… love-bites….”

* * * * *

But little by little Ichabod finds himself drawn unwillingly to the dark side. Slowly, all along, he has been going mad. Everything that has happened to him – his resurrection, the loss of everything he knew… as well as trying to battle ultimate evil itself… His whole foundation has crumbled, he’s lost, confused, disoriented – all feelings that evil and negativity are drawn to. And he no longer has the stability to fight it back.

And ultimately, the Horseman wants Ichabod by his side – as the Fifth Horseman.  
* * * * *

They put Jennifer in a safe house about 100 miles away from Sleepy Hollow. Ichabod knows how fast a horse can travel, and how far. And figuring the sunset and sunrise times, knowing that Horseman would have to travel from his coffin to his victim, then get back to his coffin before sunrise, they figure 60 miles away should be good enough. And for safe measure, they make it an even 100. There’s no way a horse could make a 200-mile round-trip in one night.

But Jennifer won’t stay put – she figures she’ll be harder to track if she keeps moving – “a moving target’s harder to hit.” Plus she wants to try tracking the Horseman – now that he’s targeted her, that makes it personal.

Abbie is horrified – “are you out of your mind???”

Jenny assures, “hey, don’t worry, Sis, I’ll stay out of arm’s reach. But I can’t stay cooped up for the rest of my life. I can poke around – during the day.”

“No you can’t!” Abbie insists.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

But on her own, Jenny decides to try to find his hiding place – the resting place of his coffin. She is traveling by motorbike. She scouts both sides of the river bank, looking for any sign, and when she thinks she’s found a likely spot, she hides out near sunset to watch to see if he rises.

He doesn’t rise from the spot she’s watching, but after awhile, she hears a horse nearby, and then she sees him already mounted and riding. She guns the motorbike and takes off, knowing that a horse can’t keep up with the bike. From behind, she sees that he has heard her, and he takes off in a gallop after her.  
* * * * *

Jenny races to get away, gunning the motorbike, going down a dirt trail until she gets back to the asphalt. She’s driving away at full throttle, 70+ mph, leaving the chasing horse and rider far behind. Until suddenly the galloping horse is right alongside her. And with one stroke of the axe, at full gallop, he slices off her head. At the speed they’re going, the head flies off and lands some distance away.

As well, because of gyro effects, the bike keeps travelling a ways before finally losing momentum, tipping over and crashing.

The Horseman veers off and rides away.  
* * * * *

Abbie’s been on the phone frequently with her. Finally when the GPS shows no movement, and she doesn’t answer Abbie’s call, Abbie knows something is wrong, and they go to the last location.

And find her headless body…

They’re all horrified, and Abbie is devastated.

At first they can’t find the head, and Abbie is sick to think the Horseman might have taken it for a souvenir. They search up and down the roadside, until finally Irving finds it. And just eyeballing the distance from the head to the body to the bike, he realizes that they were both travelling at a high rate of speed.

“We’ve made a grievous error,” Ichabod realizes soberly. “We neglected to consider that the horse is as demonic as its rider.”

Abbie vows, “I’m gonna find that bastard’s coffin, if I have to dredge the whole river. I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna drive a stake through his goddamn heart.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Irving retorts. “This isn’t some B vampire movie. And besides, I’m not even sure he has a heart.”

“She was foolish to hunt him alone,” Ichabod asserts. “We don’t need you to be foolish as well.”

At that, she hauls off and slaps Ichabod hard across the face. “You keep your mouth off her!” she yells. “And anyway, how did he know where to find her? Did he get it from you? You’re the one sleeping with that bastard!”

And her icy words stab Ichabod colder than the Horseman’s touch. He’s dumbstruck.

Irving is the one who answers. “Crane didn’t know where she was now to tell the Horseman, and he wouldn’t have anyway. Get ahold of yourself, Mills. We need straight-thinking right now.”

But Abbie keeps it up. “And what’s it like, anyway, kissing someone with no head? And how do you guys do it anyhow?”

Finally Ichabod has had enough. “Please cease!” His face is taut as he answers Abbie: “I am already deeply shamed by the circumstances I have found myself in. I do not require your disapprobation to shame me further.”

“All right, that’s enough, both of you, “Irving interrupts, and they both grudgingly stop. “Now, we all need to keep _our_ heads.”  
* * * * *

The next time the Horseman comes to Ichabod, Ichabod is furious. “I cancel our bargain. Leave me, demon.”

Roughly the Horseman knocks Ichabod to the ground, then kneels over him, clutching a fistful of his shirt-front. “It doesn’t work that way. You can’t cancel our bargain, and I refuse to. Don’t act so shocked by your compatriot’s demise. I’ve been straight with you. I told you I was going to take her, and I did.”

“Monster!”

“I await the day when you will take your place alongside me… and ride as the Fifth Horseman.”

“You shall never see that day, demon.”

“On the contrary, I believe that day is coming quite soon.”  
* * * * *

Abbie takes up where Jennifer left off hunting the Horseman. Without telling Ichabod or Irving, she follows the last GPS trail from Jenny’s phone as Jenny had scouted along the banks of the river. She’s careful to get back before nightfall.

Until one time, in the afternoon, the Horseman accosts her in the deep forest shade. She’s startled, caught off-guard, and raises her pistol. Abruptly he lunges at her, knocks the gun out of her hand, then throws her down and pins her with a hand on her throat, and a knee on her legs, pressing with his weight. In his other hand he holds his axe. She’s helpless, and she knows it. And in terror, she realizes that Irving and Ichabod were right – she and Jenny were both foolish, both underestimating just how capable the demon is. And she knows she’s going to die.

He holds her down for awhile, and hefts the axe, but doesn’t raise it. And then, inexplicably, he releases her and walks back to his horse nearby. As she starts to sit up, holding her throat and coughing for breath, he mounts and holds the horse, watching her for awhile, then rides away.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next day, she doesn’t tell Ichabod or Irving, but she does wear a scarf around her neck which Ichabod notices, since she hasn’t worn one before, and he compliments her on it. And when the three are discussing strategies, she’s kind of vague. They might even make note of her attitude, and query if she’s doing anything (like hunting the Horseman) on her own, but she denies it.  
* * * * *

The next time the Horseman comes to Ichabod, he holds up a slip of paper between index and middle finger, and pronounces, “This name commands a high price… which you will pay.”

Ichabod can guess even before he takes it and reads it: Grace Abigail Mills.

In rage he lunges for the Horseman. “NO!!” But his hands clutch empty air, since this is merely a vision state, and the demon is not truly solid. Furiously, he confronts him. “Dare to even approach her, and I will make your life a living hell, monster.”

“You forget, human – I am not living… and I already abide in Hell. You shall have to do better than that to threaten me,” he taunts in amusement. Then with a touch of his finger to the paper, the name vanishes. “However, I do not offer this name as one to shortly fall to my blade, but rather one whom I could have taken a few days ago – and chose not to. She came to me at the river – she sought me out, as her sister did before her. So I met her – as she seemed to have wished – however, unlike her sister, I allowed this Miss Mills to keep her head… for now.”

“Why?” Ichabod demands. “Surely not out of mercy.” A taunting sneer curls his lips. “Or is the Horseman of Death turning… soft?”

“Mercy? Perhaps.” A cold smile. And he has no trouble with solidity, clutching a fistful of Ichabod’s shirt-front, and thrusting him up against a nearby wall. “Mercy which tonight you will pay dear compensation for, human.” A vicious kiss is forced on Ichabod’s mouth.

And he keeps it up all night, taking Ichabod over and over. And this time, it does take place in real time, and he doesn’t vanish until the grey dawn begins to lighten the sky. And when he’s done, Ichabod is utterly exhausted.

Cold fingers slide into his hair, caresses that shift into a brutal fist tugging his hair. “Perhaps your soul does not belong to me – yet…” the deep haunting voice surmises, “– but your body is already mine… forever.”

* * * * *

_to be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The rest of this story is a work in progress.)
> 
> “If that is your word,” the Horseman sneered, “then you will see a bloodbath now, the likes of which these previous nights were just an overture. So many heads will roll, that this town will reek of death and decay. And it will be all on your hands.” A cold fist gripped Ichabod’s collar, thrusting him up against the wall, and the words pulsed clearly into Ichabod’s brain in blazing blood-light. “And the price to end it all – the only coin I will accept! – is your soul and hers…”

The next morning Ichabod coldly confronts Abbie. At first she denies, but then he demands that she remove the scarf. Reluctantly she does so, revealing the tell-tale black fingerprints marking the skin of her throat. Ichabod is furious, not for what was done to him as compensation, but that Abbie could have so easily lost her head, not to mention her life. He lambastes her up one side and down the other. And later when Irving finds out, he gives it to her double. Both men are really beyond anger.

“You lied to us!”

“I’m sorry! But he killed my sister, and I want to get him.”

“That’s not the damn point! How is your getting killed too supposed to help your sister?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to do about you,” Irving admitted blankly. “What do you suggest I do with you? You’re putting yourself in danger, you’ve put Crane in trouble, you’re jeopardizing the mission… Just what the hell am I supposed to do with you, Mills?”

Meekly, eyes downcast, Abbie responded, “Kick me off the team?”

“I’d like to do that. I really would. But we’ve already lost one fourth of our team. And getting rid of you would just leave Crane and me. So we can’t afford to do that. But know if I could, you’d be grounded so fast…” He looked at Ichabod. “And you look like death warmed over. I assume your midnight visitor came last night?”

Ichabod’s answer was precise and chilly. “He arrived in the evening and remained until dawn… thereby the preservation Miss Mills’ head upon her shoulders was procured. And by the way, Captain, I assure you, despite your turn of a phrase, there is nothing warm about Death.”

“Why didn’t he kill me?” Abby wondered.

“I don’t know. He’s a demon – he doesn’t reason like a human being. And assuming that he does is a grave miscalculation.”

* * * * *

“My preferences fall to the tender sex,” Ichabod snapped. “In addition, I prefer a partner with a head.”

“My lack of that appendage is something you must bear responsibility for. Nevertheless, I await the day when you will beg for my caresses.”

“Then you shall have a long wait.”

“I have eternity – and so do you.”

“There is a saying – Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps you could try absenting yourself from my presence until the end of eternity – and then we shall see if I have missed you.”

* * * * *

“For what I’ve paid, you cannot take her life.”

“I will tell you this much, human. She will not die for awhile, but in the end she will die. And you and I cannot kill each other. You will both die before the end of days. She will die before you, and you will watch her die. Her soul will be claimed by my Lord Moloch.”

“No. She will never give it to him.”

“Of course not. It will be given _to_ him.”

“Given? By whom? You?”

“No. By another.”

“Who?”

“That I cannot say.”

“Cannot? Because you don’t know, or because you refuse to?”

The Horseman smiled, but did not answer. “And after you die, you will belong to me. You will ride alongside me as the Fifth Horseman, as we herald the Apocalypse, bringing all humanity to its knees in our reign of terror. Interesting, wouldn’t you consider: we two met – and died – during one revolutionary war, and now we shall continue together in the greatest revolutionary war of all.”

“I may die, and you may attempt to claim me. But there is something else – and I think you know it as well: You cannot truly have me, unless I agree. I also believe that Miss Mills will never be taken by your devil lord – no one can give another’s soul. You know these things, as your master does as well. Your kind may wish for souls with all your black hearts, but you can only take those that are offered or surrendered to you. And that may be why you are fixated on me. You want me, but realize that you will never be able to have me, and so your need consumes you. Perhaps you think you can ultimately seduce me by your continued presence. Let me assure you now – you cannot. You say that you cannot lie – you say that I have been lying to myself. No, demon – it is you who have been lying to yourself, trying to make yourself believe that I will eventually succumb to you. But you do not comprehend the human soul at all – perhaps because you have no soul of your own, or you have seen too many petty humans willing to surrender, rather than stand and fight. But heed me, foul night creature: you have met your match – no, you have met more than your match in me and in Miss Abigail Mills. You and your lord will not win… you cannot win.”

“No – you heed _me_ , petty human: if that is your word, then you will see a bloodbath now, the likes of which these previous nights were just an overture. So many heads will roll, that this town will reek of death and decay. And it will be all on your hands.” A cold fist gripped Ichabod’s collar, thrusting him up against the wall, and in the potency of the energy, the demon could not maintain a lock upon the visual manifestation of his head, but slipped into his true headless form. Yet even so, the words pulsed clearly into Ichabod’s brain in blazing blood-light. “And the price to end it all – the _only_ coin I will accept! – is your soul and hers…” Brutally he shoved Ichabod to the floor. The image of his head wavered and re-formed. “And _that_ is the final bargain I will make with you, little creature of the dust. Show me the power of your faith now, little toy formed of mud, when the blood spews like fountains from the severed necks of your brethren. Show me what your petty little belief in the power of good” – and he sneered the word – “can do then…”

“You will see it, demon,” Ichabod coughed. “You may take more lives before we stop you, but if we surrendered, you would take the entire human race. And that, we will not allow to happen. And even if we fall, you will not have our souls. And others will come after us. Go back and tell your lord Moloch that it is he who will surrender… and all of you will fall with him. And I make no bargain with you. That is no deal – that is your irrevocable fate.”

Without a word of response, the Horseman turned and strode away, vanishing into nothingness. Weakly Ichabod sagged against the wall, holding his bruised throat.

* * * * *

“Hold the phone,” Abbie announced brightly, entering the house briskly. “We’ve got ourselves a plan.”

“Well, you sound quite self-satisfied. Have you discerned a solution to our dilemma?”

“Well, actually Irving’s the one who thought it up. Funny thing is, any of us should have thought of this months ago. So call up your buddy for a play-date or something, before he starts his little night-time rampage tonight.”

”You seem quite sure of yourself.”

“Oh yeah – this’ll stop that bastard in his tracks.”

* * * * *

“Is this truly possible?” Ichabod queried in wonderment. “Is such a thing commonplace in your time?”

“Oh yeah, all the time,” Abbie agreed lightly. “ ‘Course, Irving will have to get the President’s okay, but hey, a little thing like that, I’m sure he can do it.”

“Does Captain Irving have access to the President?”

“Hey, you had access to the President in your day, didn’t you? You guys were best buds.”

“He wasn’t president at the time, and we weren’t ‘best buds’. He was my commanding officer.”

“Yeah, and the Horseman said you were his ‘prize soldier’, whatever that meant.”

“It meant that the General entrusted me with numerous sensitive missions and did keep me close at hand as his aide-de-camp. At any rate, I realize things are not quite so simple in this day, so I wonder how easily Captain Irving might now be able to garner the President’s attention.”

“Yeah, well, Irving’s pretty good about getting done what needs to get done.”

“Yes, I do agree with that estimation. So, is this actually being planned right now? You understand, the Horseman will know if I’m lying.”

“And that’s why you don’t need to know any more than what I’m telling you. What you don’t know, you can’t lie about. So go invite your buddy over tonight, let him know you’ve got a new deal to make – go send a letter by carrier pigeon or Pony Express, or whatever it is you guys used to do to communicate – before it’s too late.”

“Pony Express?”

“Go on, git!”

* * * * *

“We still have one bargaining chip: your head. You must have it in order to raise the other Horsemen.”

“I also know that you will never tell me where it is. Therefore I must continue to seek it out for myself, and when I find it, I must overcome any locks or wards you may have erected. It may take me longer, but for as long as it takes, the bloodbath will continue. So, no, Captain Crane, my head is no longer a bargaining chip. Therefore, prepare yourself: as soon as I leave here, the killings will begin. You have spared no one by calling me here tonight.”

“Then you can wait a moment longer, and hear me out, demon. We know you are susceptible to sunlight.”

“Yes, you proved that quite aptly when you held me prisoner – temporarily – in your so-called escape-proof dungeon.”

“Might we assume then, that your head is just as sensitive as your body? Are you capable of feeling what we do to it?”

“You intend to place my head in direct sunlight? Yes, it will cause me great pain. But I survived your assault upon my body. I will survive it as well upon my head.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. We also know that you are bound to this earth.”

“That is true as well.”

“Well, what if we send your head where you can’t go?”

“No matter where you plan to hide it on Earth, I will eventually find it. And I will retrieve that which you took from me – and then you will pay the price.”

“What if we place it somewhere not on Earth?”

For once the Horseman seemed curious. “What do you mean? You are bound to Earth, the same as I.”

“No – we are not. My compatriots have informed me that in the centuries since you and I last walked this realm, the human race has learned to escape the bonds of our planet, and regularly launches vessels into the void beyond our sphere. They have sent ships to Earth’s sister planets. And they can – and have – launched them _into the sun_.”

At that Death was finally silent.

“Show your face, demon,” Ichabod demanded coldly, smugly. “I want to see what you are thinking.”

Compliantly the Horseman’s unmasked visage shimmered into solidity. The eyes were still whited over, but Ichabod could sense the profound fury and confusion swirling beneath the milky murkiness.

Finally Death pronounced flatly: “You are lying.”

“No. You’d know if I were. Tell me, Horseman, what would your pain be like then, with your head burning for eons in the blast furnace of our sun – unable to be retrieved, yet unable to be destroyed? And how would your devil lord take the news that your head is forever beyond your reach, leaving your fellow Horsemen forever locked away?”

The demon had no answer.

“Even now,” Ichabod assured, “your head is beyond your reach, where it will remain, to keep you in check. However, if even one more person dies by your hand, it will be sent on its final journey… and you and your lord Moloch will have lost forever.” A negligent hand gripped the knot of the dirty scarf. “You have no idea, demon,” Ichabod swore tautly between clenched teeth, “how very much I wish to hurt you.”

“Then why don’t you do it now, human, and save your pitiful little race once and for all?”

“No, not yet. Because when that occurs, I’ve no doubt the agony will reduce you to a mindless screaming idiot. For now, for all you have done, I want you to suffer knowing the absolute power we petty humans hold over you. And I want you sane enough to deliver the message of your failure to your devil lord.”

“Then perhaps this is the last time we will have reason to speak.”

“Oh no,” Ichabod contradicts. “I await to hear Moloch’s reaction to your confession. No doubt it will be quite…colorful… And you must drop by and tell me what punishment he pronounces. I eagerly wish to hear.”

But without an answer, the Horseman departs.

* * * * *

_to be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Ichabod is at the dinette table doing the newspaper crossword puzzle. Abbie is in the kitchen fixing breakfast. She opens the kitchen curtains to the window that overlooks the land behind her house.  
> And gives several startled shrieks.  
> Jerking up from the table in alarm, Ichabod rushes over. Abruptly Abbie turns away from the window, falls into his embrace, burying her face again his chest and panting for breath. He looks out to see what shocked her… and starts laughing.

The next morning, Ichabod is at the dinette table doing the newspaper crossword puzzle (Abbie started a subscription for him, since he wants to learn more of this new world, and he prefers something familiar, something he can hold onto, rather than scanning her iPad.) Abbie is in the kitchen fixing breakfast. She opens the kitchen curtains to the window that overlooks the land behind her house.

And gives several startled shrieks.

Jerking up from the table in alarm, Ichabod rushes over. Abruptly Abbie turns away from the window, falls into his embrace, burying her face again his chest and panting for breath. He looks out to see what shocked her… and starts laughing.

In the center of the yard, in an open area, in full sun, the Horseman is staked out spread-eagle. His headless unclothed body is twitching and squirming slightly under the attack of the sun’s early rays, and a misty smoke is already rising off his bare skin.

In irritation at Ichabod’s reaction, Abbie pulls back frowning. “What is so damn funny?” she accuses. Again she looks out the window to verify what she saw. It is indeed the same. “What the hell is so funny about that?” she demands. “What the hell is he doing there?”

“I’m sorry,” Ichabod apologizes, stifling his chuckles. “I had insisted the Horseman let me know how Moloch would punish him once he learned of our plan for his head and his failure to retrieve it. This is obviously Moloch’s answer – and he chose to punish us as well, having to look at it.”

“It’s not funny,” Abbie insists, still put out. “God, I don’t want to look at that all day.”

But Ichabod’s tone is still light. “I believe I’ll go out and have a word with him, see just what the plan for the day is. You may as well go ahead and finish preparing breakfast.”

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Nonsense. In fact I’ll see if he might like a bite to eat as well. After all, he is our guest, and one must extend the common courtesies.”

“Don’t you god-damn dare. And why are you so fucking light about this? You act like you two are frat bros or something.”

“If ‘frat bros’ means intimate companions, oh we’ve been quite intimate – from sharing a ‘marriage-bed’ these last few weeks, to having taken each others’ lives two-hundred-and-fifty years ago, and still having the scars to show it. I don’t believe two people could be any more intimately acquainted than that, do you?”

“No,” she had to admit. “But if you try to invite him in, so help me, I’ll kick you out and change the locks before you can get back.”

“Not to fear, dear lady – if that’s where Moloch wants him, then that’s where he will stay.”

“Well, _I_ don’t want him there!”

“Well, at least be grateful that the grounds are rather secluded. And you don’t often throw garden soirees. So you needn’t worry about your friends or neighbors being offended.”

Ichabod steps outside, and strolls over to where the naked prisoner lies. Wrists and ankles have been locked to rings set in the ground – and they’re obviously supernatural – nothing that Abbie would have put there. The early sun is already tormenting the helpless figure, as he writhes and twists slowly in his restraints, the scent of smoking meat rising in the air.

Ichabod greets him, and starts asking questions in a patronizing manner. But the Horseman is too hurt by the sun’s rays to either form the headed vision of himself to respond, or even to psychically transmit his thoughts. So Ichabod does all the talking.

“Can you speak?” Ichabod questions. “No? Are you perchance in too much pain to form the image your head? Well, that is indeed too bad. I recall you were in agony when I exposed your bare chest to our sun-lamps. To be naked beneath the full sun must be excruciating. I do hope so. How does it feel on the raw meat of your open neck wound? I wonder.”

In response, the Horseman’s upper body lifts slightly off the ground trembling with great pain and effort, and turns toward Ichabod; and suddenly a surge of sharp agonizing burning pain slices through Ichabod’s neck, dropping him back writhing on the ground clutching his throat. In a bare moment it passes, but he’s left gasping, tears filling his eyes. And a taunting, pained, yet slightly amused thought fills his mind, though their bond: “you asked… my friend – and that is but… the merest shadow… of my pain. I hope… you are satisfied...”

Shakily Ichabod manages to push himself up to a sitting position. Still holding his throat, he acknowledges, “Yes, I… did indeed ask for it… I must remember… in the future… to be much more cautious…”

~ ~ ~

Later in the evening as Abbie is fixing supper, she calls to Ichabod. Together they look out the window.

As the sun sets, the pale horse emerges from the outer woods into the clearing, and lopes up to its rider still chained to the ground. They hear the metallic sound of locks opening, then the Horseman sits up. After a moment stabilizing himself, he rises and strides over to the horse, and as he does so, his uniform and weapons form themselves around his body, so that when he mounts, he’s fully dressed and armed. And off he rides into the night.

Abbie wonders if there will be any beheadings tonight, or if they really did put the fear of God into the demon world.

Ichabod can’t say.

“Well, this was an odd day,” Abbie remarks dryly.

“Yes,” Ichabod agrees, without voicing his idea that it may not be the only one.

~ ~ ~

The next morning before sunrise, Ichabod fixes his coffee, then goes to sit on the back patio and watch.

Sure enough, as dawn lightens the sky, horse and rider appear, then in a reverse of the previous evening, the Horseman dismounts and walks back to the same spot in the clearing, his clothes and accoutrements vanishing, until he lies back down, naked once again, spread-eagles himself, and Ichabod can hear the shackles rasp close. The horse turns and trots back into the trees.

Now Ichabod approaches the figure once again. He wants to have a chat before the sun actually rises.

The Horseman acknowledges what Ichabod already suspected. Yes, this is Moloch’s punishment. And since Ichabod had expressed an interest, Moloch decided to be generous and take him up on his word, having the confinement take place right where Ichabod and Abbie can see.

Ichabod wonders if anybody lost their head during the night. The Horseman assures, no. He spent the entire night searching for his head. And that is how the rest of the future will repeat – free at night to search for his head, then chained in the sunlight to burn all day long. And there will be no respite until he retrieves the missing appendage.

“And if we’ve placed it outside the nightly range of your steed?”

“Do you know the range of my horse?” Death queries sarcastically.

“No,” Ichabod has to admit – after all, it is a demonic creature.

“By the way,” Ichabod announces, “the next time to see your lord, please inform him that these circumstances are not acceptable. While I have become accustomed to your… stench, the lady has not. Your presence here is disturbing her, and I will not allow anything that causes her distress. This is her property here, and you are not welcome.”

~ ~ ~ 

At breakfast Ichabod related everything to Abbie, who is dismayed by the prospect of never having the back-lot to herself again.

“Well, there goes the property value.”

“Yes, but how many properties can boast a real live demon as a garden centerpiece?”

Ichabod offers to erect a modesty screen.

~ ~ ~

Ichabod is quite elated over this turn of events.

“Yeah, but don’t go gettin’ all giddy over this,” Abbie warns. “We haven’t won the war yet.”

“No,” Ichabod acknowledges, “but we have been victorious in a most important battle. If indeed what you related to me is true – about your magical machines that can truly soar through the heavens to the sun and beyond – then we have truly stymied the Horseman, since his retrieval of his head is the lynchpin to all else that follows.”

“It’s true, although it isn’t instantaneous. It takes awhile to set up a launch, like, I dunno, weeks, months. And that’s after we manage to convince the powers-that-be of the reason we need to hitch a ride with NASA. Well, Irving has set up an emergency meeting with the governor, and then next on the agenda will be trying to convince the President. I don’t know how that’ll go over.”

“Well, actually I don’t think it will be difficult at all. You know, Abbie, I think now would be a perfect time for you to hold a little garden party, and invite the governor, the President, and this NASA of yours, and let them see for themselves, what do you think?”

“I think that’s a pretty good idea, Mr. Ichabod Crane. But you know, you keep reminding me not to be careless, now it’s my turn to remind you. You’re finding this pretty funny. But don’t take this too lightly and think it’s some kind of joke, because I’m really pretty sure that Moloch doesn’t joke.”

“Of that I am quite sure, my lady,” Ichabod agrees. “Anything that Moloch does is to gain an advantage on us, and this is no exception.”

“Do you think he can hear us from out there? Maybe Moloch put him there to spy on us. Do you think he heard what we were just talking about?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t believe he can. It seems he must be within normal speaking distance.”

“And don’t bother with the privacy screen. I may not want to look at him all the time, but I’d rather be able to know where he is, than not. I’ll tell you right now, if I couldn’t see him, and one time when I looked out the window, he was right there looking in, I can guarantee you I’d have a heart attack right then and there.”

* * * * *

_to be continued… some day…_

 


End file.
